she hated bras. but she wore one so he could take it off her. so he could look, at her almost naked body and be forced, to use his imagination, for a moment, longer. she did this hoping to preserve: whatever image he’d created for a moment, longer. before: her body was bare and real and “perceptible by touch”
Fading chorus to a sing-along rapture a laugh of clarification a hasty placement of hands and knees, dovetailed yes, those eyes ~ still lit and power-surged but give her a moment (...) for all the sudden it tickles
Let this hymn beneath an ebony sky Be the breath of angels upon our skin. A song of scripture and silence written upon your body and mine. My head upon your breast on this night and your lips upon my mind. Our breaths swirling like a sacred fragrance are everything I need to know of love.
~ She cannot feel the full passion of this peak because it is not her passion: It is seen at a distance, as a phenomenon, like the weather, or the plague of grasshoppers that signals the beginning of the end. ~